


Drabbles of a Short Attention Span

by SolanumTuberosum



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Compliant, Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-14
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-11-07 18:11:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolanumTuberosum/pseuds/SolanumTuberosum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of short drabbles with various pairings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Her pretty little face stopped me in my tracks...

**Author's Note:**

> Arya Stark/Myrcella Baratheon.

Arya liked to pretend she wasn’t a lady.

She told everyone just as much and, because she wanted to believe this, she played rough with Bran and ran around all day, splashing in mud puddles and ice puddles, climbing trees that snagged on her breeches and shirts, ripped her skin and knotted leaves and twigs in her hair.

Her mother and septa, but her sister most of all, despaired of her, but when court came to Winterfell when Arya was fourteen, the King had laughed and said she was just like Lyanna.

She noticed that, after that, three pairs of royal eyes followed her.

The King; because, after all, she _was_ just like Lyanna, right down to her grey eyes and boyish hobbies.

The Queen; furious that once more, a Stark had caught the King’s eyes and attentions in a way she never had.

The last pair of eyes that Arya often felt burning into her were the princess’s.

She knew Myrcella watched her, just as Myrcella was aware that Arya knew that.

They tended to watch each other, the green eyes of the princess glittering in the candlelight of the Great Hall as she smiled at Arya in a way that made the grey eyes of the younger Stark girl dilate and widen.

No one noticed those little exchanges, just as no one noticed Arya’s fake laughter and anger at the bruises her brothers had caused because they thought she didn’t mind.

Myrcella noticed and was secretly amused by the Stark girl’s imaginary boyish fancies.

The princess married Robb and eventually, Arya convinced her mother that she could look after Rickon and that Catelyn should go South with Ned and Bran. Sansa had been married a few years ago to Joffrey, so now, Winterfell was practically empty, with just Rickon, Robb, Myrcella and Arya to fill it.

Arya continued pretending she was practically a boy, so caught up in the lie that there was little else she could be.

Myrcella watched on in amusement, the only real emotion she felt in the desolate, frozen North.

Eventually, the masculine- but-feminine, Arya gave into her baser instincts and hunted the sweet Lady of Winterfell down.

She hadn’t expected the perfect lady to shove her hands away and pin her to a pillar, biting and sucking viciously at the column of her throat, her nimble fingers sliding into the wolf-girl’s smallclothes and making her scream.

Later that year, when Myrcella was swelling with child, she still pinned Arya down to the bed and sunk her teeth into the girl’s calloused skin, and Arya wondered if maybe she wasn’t the only one pretending.

Myrcella was wild, neither Robb nor Arya able to contain or tame her, but she pretended to be sweet and docile while Arya did what she was told, all the while pretending to rebel.

They now both watched in amusement while they each played the others parts, only ever falling into what they actually were when Robb was asleep and Arya awoke to her furs being ripped away, a hungry lioness standing over her.

 


	2. Hell Hath no Fury (Like a Woman Scorned)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and Robb Stark had scorned her more than any man before, more than any man ever would again.

Roslin Frey wasn’t a vain girl.

She was quite plain—brown hair, brown eyes, fair skin, but, despite having similar colourings to Margaery Tyrell, she lacked the spark that made the other girl the Rose of Highgarden—so there really was nothing to be vain about. She had sisters that were prettier—nieces, cousins—but she knew she was better than most of them.

She was smart, she was pure but most of all, she was betrothed to the King in the North.

Or she _had been_.

Nothing in her chambers escaped her fury when word came that he had dishonoured their betrothal and married a _Westerling_. Eventually, her sweet handmaiden had calmed her, and they began to plot.

Lord Walder was not especially stupid, but she knew, better than all of his other children, that he could easily be influenced.

Roslin set to work immediately, planting ideas in both her father, when allowed near him, and his advisors’ heads. She would marry the Stark _boy_ ’s uncle, Edmure Tully, Lord of Riverrun, and she’d have Robb Stark’s head as well.

The young Frey girl’s smile was very much real on her wedding day, her laughter coming free and bubbling, her conversations with her new husband and the Northern bannermen not forced in the slightest.

She looked at them, the Stark boy, his lady mother, the Northerners and Riverlanders alike and thought, _you’ll all be dead soon. Your heads will decorate my halls._

The bedding was the best part.

She could hear the dull thumping of drums as _the Rains of Castamere_ started up even as the Tully man broke through her maidenhead. She moaned and writhed beneath him as he pumped into her, his sister and nephew dying just outside.

She almost laughed when it was over, and everything was silent.

Her husband fell asleep and she slipped from the bed silently, a dull ache between her legs. She ignored it, used to pain, pulling a white nightgown over her head and tugging it down.

She pushed the door open, smiling as she noticed the blood coating the walls and bodies strewn in the passage way. Men walked up to her, and she noticed her one of her brothers amongst the Lannister red cloaks.

“Wake your lord husband.” Waltyr ordered, marching straight into her chambers. She stopped smiling, growling low at the foolish boy, but following after him anyway. She threw a shirt and breeches at Lord Edmure, pretending to cry as the soldiers shook him awake.

“We’ve something to show you, Lord Tully.” One of the Lannister men crowed as he was pulled from his marital bed.

His yells of protest turned to roars of outrage at seeing the slaughtered men and eventually those turned to howls of despair as he laid eyes on his desecrated nephew, as they threw his sister’s mauled body into the river as a jape. When his wife hid her face, shoulders shaking, no one realising it was because she was _laughing_.

Lady Jeyne _Stark_ was a widow and a queen no more. Truly she was lady of nothing, except bones and ash.

Roslin was more amused by her lord husband being locked in a tower, like a princess from a song, to really care about the insignificant girl a dead man had deemed better than her, the woman who caused the downfall of the North and House Stark.

No, Roslin Frey wasn’t a vain girl.

She was a proud and mercilessly intelligent one. 


	3. You Would Fall (And Turn the White Snow Red)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt (by ozmamohglacius):
> 
> Arya/Myrcella/Shireen  
> Each has a weakness but one of the others has it as a strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song White Winter Hymnal by Birdy.
> 
> Yeah, so everything's skimmed over for, um, reasons, but the general gist is Jon wasn't killed, Stannis gave up the throne to Daenerys, Aegon is... no where to be seen and Stannis was also the Azor Ahai. Heh.

_They balanced each other_ , Jon decided as he remembered watching the oddity that was his sister’s relationship.

A singer was in the corner, entertaining sweet Shireen and as Jon watched from the doorway, Myrcella enticed the girl away from her book in the promise of a dance. After a few moments, Arya, from her place by the fire, was also convinced to join the fray and the three girls whirled around the room, laughing and jesting, blonde, brown and black hair entwining.

Arya was the wildest, Jon knew that for certain. Where Shireen was shy and Myrcella was wary, Arya was often rash and impulsive, thinking little of consequences. He was extremely glad that his wolf sister seemed to have found two people who, while didn’t tame her, calmed her—mostly Shireen’s work—and taught her the lesson of caution—Myrcella’s influence.

Myrcella was probably the most beautiful of the three girls—she looked even more beautiful than her mother had at her age, Tyrion had once told him—with sweet blonde hair, lightly tanned skin stretched over a tall, toned body, dark green eyes that seemed to know the secrets of the whole world, a graceful, lithe gait and a proud curve to her lovely red mouth. Arya was pretty, but her face was too long and her mouth too thin to be considered beautiful and Shireen was demure, with big blue eyes and silky black hair, but her skin was pallid and marred by greyscale scars.

Just as Arya’s wolf blood got her into trouble, it was Myrcella’s detached countenance, or more likely, her resemblance to everything that Lannisters were famed for, that warranted unease in both Stannis’s army and the wildlings. Unfortunately, Jon had been present when she’d snapped, her aloofness cracking and shattering like ice and the deadly calm girl had turned into a screaming, furious wreck.

Shireen and Arya had dragged her from the room before she could rip her offenders’ tongues out, rage fuelling her better than it had ever fuelled a Baratheon.

That was another major difference in the already variously different girls.

Shireen very, _very_ rarely got angry—according to Davos, the scarred girl had never actually gotten fully angry, just annoyed—and if she did get irritated at someone or something, it only lasted a few hours before she forgave all. Arya’s temper rose much quicker than Shireen’s, but it also subsided just as quickly, and while his sister could be hurtful, she was never intentionally cruel.

Myrcella was almost as passive as Shireen, but not quite so kind, simply watching everything with cold eyes, indifferent. When her anger was called out, however, she was _vicious_. Her pure cruelty made Arya’s insensitivity pale and quivering in comparison and Jon couldn’t help but shudder when he noticed her burning hot gaze on Bowen Marsh, with one simple look, conveying a myriad of hateful, vindictive, terrible things that she would do to him without batting an eyelash.

When she looked away, her eyes flattened, indifferent once more.

Luckily, Shireen was so kind and thoughtful that she more than made up for Myrcella’s terrible nature.

Shireen’s weakness was not so noticeable as Myrcella’s, but it was there.

She was so much more sensitive than the other girls and Jon had seen her Baratheon eyes wide and swimming in tears or shaking in fear more than once. The most memorable time had been one of the wildlings recoiling in absolute horror at the greyscale scars on the Baratheon girl’s face and Shireen had looked so absolutely miserable, her eyes big and watery as she sniffed, clearly willing herself not to cry that Myrcella had pulled her from the room, hateful gaze burning into the wildling just before the door slammed shut.

Arya had unleashed her clever tongue then and completely tore the wildling apart with her wickedly sharp japes, not following after the two other girls simply because she was no use at sympathising.

They were all opposites to each other in some way, two being at opposite ends of the spectrum while the other rested in the middle.

Myrcella frowned deeply upon Arya’s complete lack of feminine qualities, while Shireen stood back, smiling fondly.

Myrcella’s cruelty, a trait garnered from her mother and brother alike, was a stark contrast to Shireen’s passiveness, with only Arya offering the vicious girl anything other than disapproval, though Jon had heard that sometimes even that waned.

Shireen’s sensitivity was very blatant, but while Arya rarely got offended, it was Myrcella’s mocking amusement at being criticised that marked her as the opposite.

Jon thought that, despite his—and many others’—disapproval about the nature of the three girls’ relationship, they completed each other in so many various ways that no man could ever hope to achieve.

It didn’t stop Shireen being taken back south by her father when the Long Night had been shattered, crying and weeping while both Myrcella and Arya were held back, the lion and wolf screeching and thrashing wildly. Shireen died a year later and nobody dared hold back the remaining girls when they expressed their grief through cruelty and swords. Stannis had died with the doe, and Jon thought that might have been the bitter man’s retribution, even if it had not been served up by the Gods, but rather by a Faceless Man.

It also didn’t stop the Dragon Queen from demanding that Myrcella be handed over, despite Tyrion and Jon’s protests. The last surviving Lannister child went back south with her cold, angry eyes and her back ramrod straight, even as, once again, Arya was held down to prevent her from killing every last man in the yard and running away with the golden lion. Myrcella had smiled beautifully, whispering the Stark words to the fuming wolf before gracefully mounting a horse, her hands tied.

Winter did come for the Dragon Queen, and nothing can stop Winter. Arya slit Daenerys Targaryen’s throat two months after the last of her lovers was burned alive. She painted the Baratheon words across the wall with the Dragon’s blood before throwing herself off the Tower of the Hand.

 _No_ , Jon thought as he waited for his sister and her lovers to arrive, though they travelled in wooden boxes, _they balanced each and we should have said a prayer for those that dared separate them._

He knew it wouldn’t have helped though.       


	4. You have Ice in your Heart (and Blood on your Hands)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a small, four sentence ficlet I wrote for SecondStarOnTheLeft or thestarkinhighgarden.tumblr.com after she asked for something to break her heart using her favourite pairing. This was a month or two ago though.

When Willas sees Sansa Stark for the first time, she's just arrived at King’s Landing and even with her red-brown hair and glassy eyes, she's the most beautiful creature he's ever laid eyes on.

When Willas sees Sansa Stark for the second time, he knows her story and he finds himself trying to talk to the melancholic girl, but she avoids his eyes while giving him those polished-till-gleaming smiles and practising her perfect courtesies.

When Willas sees Sansa for the last time, it’s the night before she’s due to leave King’s Landing to go back up north with her cousin, and he’s just proclaimed that he’s falling in love with her, to which she replies, ‘how lovely, my lord. I apologise, but I really must be off’ and continues on her way.

Willas decides there that if he ever met Petyr Baelish in the afterlife, he’d kill him all over again for turning Sansa into a perfect, porcelain doll and ruining her for the rest of the world.


	5. Robb/Myrcella -Princess, Pink, Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For akingdomofunicorns' prompt:
> 
> Robb/Myrcella - Princess, Pink, Silver

Greywind is restless at night, always scratching impatiently at Robb’s door and howling and if Robb doesn’t get up and bring him outside to the godswood, he’ll wake the entire castle up-something Robb cannot let happen, especially with the King’s visit in full swing.

He hides quickly when he spots someone else in the godswood but Greywind keeps going, weaving through the trees, the pads of his paws making no noise on the leafy floor.

No growls or screaming reach Robb’s ears so he continues on, deeper and deeper till he’s almost at the heart tree.

He stops dead when he sees her, the one his father is saying he is to marry, because the moonlight has leeched away the colour of her blonde hair-longer than his mother’s, just barely brushing her hips-and her green eyes, turning them silvery and ethereal.

Greywind nuzzles her and her pink lips part to let out a soft breathy laugh, though the amusement is gone as soon as she notices him, a pretty pink blush flooding her cheeks and yes, Robb thinks she is the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was part of a fandom drabble challenge I was doing on Tumblr (see cerseiisnotamused.tumblr.com) and I'm doing another one if anyone wants to submit.


	6. Aegon/Sansa -zip me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For winter-has-come's prompt:
> 
> Aegon/Sansa - zip me

When it is time for the bedding, she is not stripped. Aegon had made sure that every lord in attendance knew not to touch her, that she would be escorted by her brother to her new chambers and no man other than Rickon was to lay a hand on her.

Sansa will be eternally grateful to her husband for that small act because she does not think she could handle men pawing at her and ripping away her dignity, not again.

He is gentle with her, this new and strange husband. He does not rush, does not press her, instead he sits her down and pulls pins carefully from her russet red hair, brushing it out with a tenderness she did not expect him to possess.

When he does reach for her, he is kind and slow, helping her out of her gown before going behind her to unlace her shift.

Aegon places a soft kiss against the nape of her neck and Sansa shivers, but not from the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to submit prompts from this http://cerseiisnotamused.tumblr.com/post/44000958230/drabbles-send-me-characters-pairings-and-a-prompt on my Tumblr.


	7. Willas/Sansa - paint me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For winter-has-come's prompt:
> 
> Willas/Sansa -paint me

Father commissions the portrait and as much as Willas might protest, he is pleased that Mace is finally treating him as the heir he is, rather than the son he wished he didn’t have.

The girl that comes to paint him-for it is a girl, no matter the baggy, masculine clothes she tries to hide in-catches his attention instantly and he thinks she should be the one being painted.

She would make a truly lovely portrait with her high cheekbones, gently sloping nose and lips the colour of apricots.

He thinks no more of having her painted when he finds out who her father is, because she must be hidden from the world not displayed like the beautiful jewel she is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may continue this on, though I make no promises.
> 
> Feel free to submit prompts from this http://cerseiisnotamused.tumblr.com/post/44000958230/drabbles-send-me-characters-pairings-and-a-prompt on my Tumblr.


	8. Shireen/Myrcella - Save me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For anonymous:
> 
> Shireen/Myrcella - Save me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there’s not actually a ‘Save me’ prompt so this is more of a ‘Break me’ sorry.

Prince Trystane passes Shireen one of the many corridors of the Keep with red eyes and a screeching baby in his arms-a baby with dark skin and hair, but the brightest green gold eyes also-and his accusing eyes make something inside her panic as she realises what they must mean.

She hikes her skirts up and starts running, desperation seeping into her as she realises she does not know the way to the execution courtyard and she begins to sob, still blindly searching to stop the travesty that is probably already under way.

As she runs, she remembers. She remembers that while her cousin is not really that, she was also the kindest person Shireen had ever known, especially in the face of her mother’s cruelty.

The new princess remembers her cousin teaching her how to decorate and adorn herself to take away from her scars and how to primp her raven hair to cover her ears, so maybe court would not look so disgusted at the sight of her. Mostly she remembers the beautiful girl’s tears-the ones she shed years ago when Shireen was shipped back to Dragonstone and the ones she hadn’t shed when she’d seen Shireen just a few days ago, their faces finally matching.

She arrives just in time to see the sword swing despite her screams of protest and she doesn’t think she’s ever hated her father as much as she does when he stands, his expression righteous, like justice had been served.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to submit prompts from this http://cerseiisnotamused.tumblr.com/post/44000958230/drabbles-send-me-characters-pairings-and-a-prompt on my Tumblr.


End file.
